


drifter nights

by sieges



Series: a study on you(th) and reverie [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Canon Compliant, Idiots in Love, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Timeskip, post high school but pre post-timeskip, tenderness to the max
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26375251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sieges/pseuds/sieges
Summary: On loving someone and realizing that it doesn't matter.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Kunimi Akira
Series: a study on you(th) and reverie [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902292
Comments: 14
Kudos: 99
Collections: Haikyuu: Spiker-Setter Week





	drifter nights

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the song [moon river](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mXiFHDfvn4A) by frank ocean and @conceptsbot prompt: _i wish you would meet an old friend and be nice_. my last entry for spiker-setter week at day 6: stay.

Kunimi’s first reaction to opening the door and finding himself inches away from Kageyama’s face is to slam the door back shut. 

“Hey, wait,” Kageyama says, jamming his foot in between at the last second so that the door doesn’t close completely. He winces and Kunimi instantly feels sorry, but he doesn’t let it show. He’s pulled back just in time to prevent himself from getting hit by the wood, and though he looks like he’s in pain and generally appears frazzled, like he ran to get here, with the distance between them, Kunimi feels like he can breathe a lot easier and can’t feel that terrible. “ _Kunimi_.”

“What?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologizes, and Kunimi already knows this. “Don’t kick me out yet.”

“I haven’t even let you in,” Kunimi points out, but he parts the door open and steps aside anyway, a silent invitation that Kageyama can enter. Kageyama clearly notices, even if he makes an effort to pretend like he doesn’t, lips starting to quirk up before he stops himself because then it’ll be too obvious. Kunimi does a better job at pretending, in his opinion. “It’s late. Why are you here?”

The question is more for courtesy’s sake than genuinely being curious. Beside the glass table that has his keys and other important stuff he usually grabs last-minute before leaving is his phone, faced down to hide the occasional flash of light from notifications he’s still receiving. Kunimi wonders when Kindaichi will stop texting him for the night when he’s already gotten all the information he needed five minutes before Kageyama showed up, but that probably won’t happen anytime soon. He probably expects Kunimi to give him a detailed rundown of events _as_ they occur, and that—Kunimi can’t grant despite owing him a plethora of favors. For one, he’s not that good at multi-tasking. 

For another, it’s hard to try to do anything else that doesn’t involve Kageyama while he's around. 

Kunimi watches as Kageyama toes off his shoes and places them neatly by the rack. This is the second time he’s stepped foot in Kunimi’s apartment and Kunimi doesn’t know if it’s right, for him to both want this to be the last time this’ll happen and for him to want it to be _not_.

“I brought you something,” starts Kageyama, taking something out from his pocket and urging Kunimi to hold out his hands. 

Kunimi stares at the revealed item that sits on his palms. “These are socks.” 

“They have cat prints,” Kageyama replies. Kunimi knows. He has eyes. The socks are gray and the tiny little cats spread out over the fabric are differing shades of yellow. The print is shoddy and Kindaichi could probably do art with his left hand and it would look better. “Their tongues are out. They kind of look like you.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to kick you out?” Kunimi says mildly, but he folds the socks and tucks it in the pockets of his sweatpants and doesn’t do anything more than that. Kageyama smiles, a crooked expression, and Kunimi turns away to snatch his phone and walk over to the kitchen area before he stares for a little too long. “Don’t tell you came all the way here just to give me this.”

“No. I need your help for something,” Kageyama says as Kunimi opens the refrigerator. His eyes linger on the bottle of the gin sitting beside the pitchers of water. Kageyama hasn’t really said anything yet, and though Kindaichi had told him that Kageyama would come over because he needed something from Kunimi, he hadn’t clarified anything past, _you’ll probably need a drink_. “Are you free tonight?”

Kindaichi is a shitty friend who Kunimi shouldn’t really listen to because he only told him half the picture and a request to, _at least hear Kageyama out, okay?_ Kunimi wishes he could get away with texting Kindaichi and asking, _do I really seem like that much of an asshole to you?_

But he can feel Kageyama’s eyes rest on him and there are only so many things Kunimi can get away with doing. He takes out the gin anyway, but the most he does is set it down, making no effort to grab a glass from the cupboard and pour himself a drink. 

Kunimi turns to Kageyama and leans a portion of his weight against the countertop. The edge presses against his back uncomfortably, but it’s a sensation he’s used to, more so than the way Kageyama stares at him. Kunimi racks his brain trying to remember the last time they’d met, but there’s just static in his head and piercing blue eyes.

 _Are you free tonight?_ Kageyama asks, and Kunimi doesn’t have to think long and hard about his answer. Past his balcony, with the curtains pushed aside to admire the view outside, the crescent moon hangs in the sky and the stars blink like a reminder that they won’t be here forever. The wall clock says it’s almost midnight. In a couple of hours a new day will come and so will his Friday classes. There’s some Philosophy lecture he’ll have to attend if he wants extra points. The girls and boys in his Statistics class will probably be chatting amiably about the upcoming weekend and what it brings. Imagining what the future holds alone is already exhausting for Kunimi’s present self and it’s routine for him to try and at least get ten hours of sleep before facing Fridays even though it’s a weekend right after.

But Kageyama is here right now and Kunimi remembers now that the last time he’d seen him was two months ago. That’s more than enough time to forget the shade of someone’s eyes. 

“I guess,” he eventually says, a half-reply he’s willing to give. Kageyama brightens up anyway. Kunimi thinks sleeping is overrated anyway. “For what?”

* * *

They’ve migrated to the couch area. Kunimi’s phone has gone back to the table beside the door because it’s still lighting up. Kageyama stands awkwardly in front of him even though the couch space is big enough for more than two, and the only reason Kunimi doesn’t call him out on it like he normally would is because it’s obvious that Kageyama is mustering the courage to say something and it’s been two months since they’ve last met in person. 

Kunimi rubs his cheek tiredly. He doesn’t think he’s ready to admit that being apart from someone actually means anything to him, that the realization that a few months already make him falter. 

“This is something only you can help me with,” Kageyama finally says, deciding to sit down beside him, nerves calmed down and confidence found. Kunimi wants to say that he knows, because if it wasn’t, then Kindaichi would’ve been enough and it would be him dealing with Kageyama fifteen minutes before midnight instead; because Kageyama had gone to Kindaichi first before coming here. Kunimi isn’t going to think that deeply about it. He’s not fifteen anymore, easily insecure and overly conscious about everything. He doubts that it’s personal anyway, and even if it was, what can he do about it? Kageyama is here, in the end, and that’s what matters. He’s here, seeking Kunimi's help, telling him repeatedly over and over again about it but not really saying it, like that alone will take another ten minutes of fidgeting to try and work up the nerve. 

Two months is a while, but Kunimi doesn’t remember Kageyama being this uncertain. He doesn’t know what this means—if it’s telling of the fact that Kageyama has changed, that Kunimi may not know him as well as he thought, or if this _thing_ that he’s about to say is really that big of a deal. 

“Is it about volleyball?” Kunimi asks, because that’s what comes to mind when he thinks of things Kageyama truly cares about with all his heart. 

“No,” Kageyama says. Kunimi waits for clarification, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Kageyama says, “Do you know about Landlock Nights?”

“Yeah.” It’s the upcoming dance that’s happening this weekend, an exclusive, student and invite-only thing that mimics the prom back in high school, except everyone is now older and smarter and the rules have been loosened enough just for people to feel comfortable. His university had been able to raise an adequate amount of funds for some charity Kunimi doesn’t remember that well, and the reward for all the students’ hard work had been the culmination of Landlock Nights. _His_ university, because he’s studying there, and Kageyama isn’t. 

It’s not that surprising Kageyama knows about it, because Kunimi thinks he’s mentioned it once or twice in their groupchat, knowing that it’s the kind of thing Kageyama was vaguely interested in, but—

 _Do you want to go?_ He thinks of asking Kageyama. _It’s in two days. Do you even have a tux ready?_

 _Maybe_. Kageyama will only say, and it’s a wonder, what question he’s even answering. And Kageyama won’t explicitly ask, but it’ll be clear in the breathless way he answers and the way his eyes will glisten, that puppy dog look he never developed on purpose but has nonetheless, the one that knows what he wants and knows Kunimi knows it too. 

Kunimi, on the other hand, would just hear his heart pound in his ears and he’ll swallow the sound just to be able to form the words and tell Kageyama, even though the dance had been the last thing on his mind, the last thing he’d ever consider going to, _want to come with me?_

Except what Kunimi says instead is, “Why are you asking?”

Kageyama shrugs. “Because I’m going.”

Kunimi blinks. “Oh,” he says. “How?” Kageyama’s not a student, after all, and it’s not like Kunimi invited him over. Not yet anyway. Or maybe—

“Do you know Okamura Aki?”

Not ever. From the corner of Kunimi’s eye, the bottle of gin glistens. He glances back at Kageyama, who is patiently waiting for an answer. It takes a beat before he replies, “Just because we go to the same university doesn’t mean we automatically know each other, Kageyama.”

“She’s taking up History,” supplies Kageyama. “And Kindaichi said you should know her.”

Kindaichi. It’s no wonder Kunimi never gets away with anything. “She’s part of the Student Council and the committee for Landlock Nights,” He pauses. “Yeah, I sort of know her. How did you two meet?”

“In my game three weeks ago,” Kageyama explains. Kunimi hadn’t attended that. He doesn’t remember exactly why, but it had something to do with a hangover. Kageyama had said it was okay that he missed it. Kunimi doesn’t know why now he feels like that hadn’t really been the case. “We met up for lunch and then talked a bit. Then she invited me to the dance a week ago.”

“Huh,” says Kunimi. “Just like that?”

“We got along well.” The words sound practiced. Kunimi blinks. Kageyama sighs. “She’s the niece of my trainer.”

“Ah.” Kunimi leans back. “So you don’t know anything about her.”

Kageyama’s cheeks flare in embarrassment. “Don’t be a dick about it.” he says. “And I just need to know enough.”

“To sweep her off her feet?”

“To not embarrass myself,” he corrects. He finally sits down beside Kunimi. “You know how I am with new people.”

Kunimi fully leans into the cushion and stares at Kageyama. It’s not like Kageyama doesn’t have a point, but he should also give himself a bit more credit. This isn’t middle school or high school anymore. He’s less uptight and less misunderstood and people respect him for things other than his volleyball skills—like the earnest way he tries his best when it comes to everything, the way he wears his pride like a cloak of armor but isn’t afraid to discard it because he’s strong enough to not need the protection, the comical ways he’s thoughtful even though he’s completely serious. 

It’s something Kunimi thinks other people have caught on, and it’s why Okamura approached him. Partially because of his reputation, sure, because he knows just as well she likely does that if she walked in the room during Landlock Nights with a famous volleyball player by her side, it would turn heads, but it’s not like she can’t resort to other prospects. Something about Kageyama must’ve drawn her to him. Kunimi doesn’t know if it’s a certain trait or thing about Kageyama that he already knows, or if she’d seen something in him that he hasn’t. 

Kunimi closes his eyes. Either way, he’s likely better off not knowing.

“Kunimi,” Kageyama says. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me. I just told you I needed help.”

Kunimi opens his eyes and blinks up at his friend. He straightens his posture. “You have to be a lot clearer. I’m not doing squat if you continue talking like my last semester’s Physics exams.”

“I helped you with that.”

“By explaining everything in volleyball terms, yeah.” 

Kageyama tilts his head. “It’s always easiest to learn something hard when you relate it to something you know.”

“For you, maybe,” Kunimi says, but Kageyama is smiling anyway, and this time, Kunimi soaks in the expression. “You and Okamura—is it anything serious?”

“No.” Kageyama shakes his head. “It’s just for the dance. But I kind of want to do it right, you know? Even if I like going to stuff like this, it’s her event, so she deserves to have a good time. So I need prep. Some kind of guide on how to do it before I tell her I’ll go with her.” 

Kunimi raises an eyebrow at him, processing the words. “It’s in two days. You haven’t said yes yet?”

Kageyama shrugs. “She said the latest I could give a response is tomorrow.” He’s already fucked up then, Kunimi thinks, because you’re not supposed to keep a girl waiting like that. “I’ll text her right after this.”

It means he’s really hinging on Kunimi to be able to give him what he wants. It makes a lot more sense as to why Kindaichi sent Kageyama to him now. More than just knowing Okamura. That jerk just didn’t want to deal with all the pressure. “There’s no guide to this kind of thing.” he tells him. “And it’s not like you’ve never gone on tons of one night stands before.”

“Yeah, but those are different. And they’re not that many,” Kageyama argues. “It’s just like two. And they were both with men.”

“Way more than I’ve been in.” 

“Yeah, but yours is a relationship. With a girl.”

His last relationship was a year ago. How much is Kageyama hoping he’ll remember when he can barely remember things that happened two months ago? “Gender doesn’t really mean anything, you know.”

“But a relationship does,” Kageyama points out. Kunimi lets out a huff. “C’mon. I gave you socks.”

“Oh, so the socks were bribery?” 

“Kunimi,” whines Kageyama. “I’m not asking for a lot. I just need to know what to do and what I need to not do.”

He’s asking for a lot, actually, the way Kunimi sees it. And Kunimi has never been the type who can give something of equal amount, to do something if he doesn’t want to, but if he can’t help Kageyama then he’ll leave and the last time they’d seen one another was two months ago, and this is the cost of getting him to stay. It’s probably the least he can do. 

“Fine,” he says. “But I don’t know if I can give you what you need.”

“I doubt that,” Kageyama replies truthfully, and Kunimi wonders if he can catch onto the double meanings behind his words. 

“Okay,” he starts. He pauses, thinking, tilts his head. “I kind of get what you want me to do.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Vaguely. Very, _very_ vaguely. Kunimi pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to ease out his own tension because they can’t both afford to be nervous. And Kageyama is right. There’s a difference between sexual relations and romantic ones, and Kageyama, inexperienced in the latter, is asking Kunimi for help because it’s something he knows about a lot better. Still, Kageyama makes it sound simpler than it really is, as if it has its own handbook to it. Or maybe Kunimi is just overcomplicating it. “God, this is stupid.”

“Thank you.”

Kunimi ignores him. “So where are you guys going to meet?”

“I don’t know.”

“Kageyama.”

“Hotel lobby? She’s the one carrying the invitation. They said security is strict.”

“Hm.” It’s much easier to form a visual image of how the scene will work. He never really did this before, mentally preparing for how something will play out back when he was still with his ex, but Kageyama does, and slipping into his mindset and the way he looks at the world means Kunimi can tell him what to do and how to do it in a way that doesn’t seem out of character. “Okamura’s a chill person, I think, but it wouldn’t hurt to bring her a flower.”

“Not a bouquet?”

“This isn’t high school. It’ll just be a hassle to carry around.” 

“What if she’s allergic to them?”

“Is she?”

“Probably not.” 

At least he’s not nervous enough to stop being cheeky. Kunimi thinks. “Only give it when she asks about it or when you’re done saying hi. It’s usually nice when the flower matches the color of her dress, but if you don’t know what it looks like, then get something close to the event’s color scheme.”

“Sky blue.”

It’s a dance hosted by his own university, but really, Kunimi wouldn’t know. “Right.” he says anyway. Sky blue. His favorite color, ironically enough. “You should already know this since you’ve been to a few before, but try not to hover over her or linger behind her like some awkward guy. You’re her date, not her servant.”

“Okay,” Kageyama agrees. “How did you know I’d do that?”

“Because you just admitted it,” Kunimi explains mildly. Kageyama gives him a look. “You make it obvious when you’re weird about something.” he amends. 

“Oh,” Kageyama says, sounding surprised. “I didn’t know people noticed that.”

Kunimi doesn’t say that he doesn’t actually know if it’s obvious to others or if it’s just obvious to him. Instead, he tries to consider other things Kageyama might need to know. There’s not actually a lot Kunimi can tell him; despite Kageyama worrying about how he might screw up, it’s not like this is his first time, and experience is the best teacher there is. 

“I don’t know what else I can tell you,” Kunimi admits. “She’ll probably want to dance, and you know how to do that. Conversation topics are beyond my paygrade, and so are finding absurd ways to get out of the situation. You’re on your own for that.”

Kageyama lets out a snort. “I’m not going to ask _you_ for help with those.” Kunimi smiles slightly, properly facing Kageyama. There’s a notable distance between them, just around an arm’s reach and not that far, but it feels strange. Kageyama must feel it too, because he shuffles closer. 

“What if she wants to kiss?”

“Then kiss her?” He doesn’t get it. “What, you never kissed any of the guys you slept with?” 

“Of course I have. I don’t do that ‘ _no kissing’_ deal. This isn’t some drama.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” mutters Kunimi.

“It’s different.” Kageyama is reasoning. “The mood, it’ll be different.” 

“Why do you care so much about ‘getting it right’ anyway?” questions Kunimi. “You barely even know her. Isn’t this the same thing as a one night stand?”

“It’s not,” Kageyama says. “It’s always fast and rough when it’s with men. And I like it that way, but that’s because it’s just sex, and it doesn’t seem right to blend them together like they’re the same thing. It’d just be like half-assing it.”

“So that’s why you’re doing it?”

Kageyama shrugs. “People deserve the best I can give.” What a simple answer, Kunimi thinks. What a _Kageyama_ answer, Kunimi thinks. A part of Kunimi wants to ask, _if that’s the case, what’s the best you can give me?_ “So I need to know what to do, and I need to practice.”

“I’m not going to kiss you,” Kunimi tells him. “That’d be too weird, and I’m not Okamura.”

Kageyama rolls his eyes. “Then don’t. Just help me practice how to get to that point.”

“Practice is a cursed word,” replies Kunimi. He shifts a bit, knee touching Kageyama’s. “This isn’t volleyball.”

“Everything requires practice,” Kageyama argues. “To progress.” 

“Not everything.” 

“Like what?”

“Like wanting to stay with someone,” Kunimi replies without thinking. “That’s not the kind of thing you can master even after doing it over and over again. It’s just something that grows worse and worse each time.”

Kageyama doesn’t say anything, and the few beats of silence is enough to shake Kunimi out of his reverie. The tips of his ears turn red at the realization of what he just revealed; Kageyama looks a little lost, trying to figure out what Kunimi means, and Kunimi can’t afford that. 

“Anyways,” He clears his throat. “Come here.” 

Kageyama squints at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because you want to practice, right?” Kunimi shoots back. “I’ll show you. But only once.” For a moment, he hesitates, and then reaches for Kageyama’s hand. He sets it on his shoulder and lets it rest there. Kageyama doesn’t move until Kunimi says, “She’d want you to hold her. To know you’re sure.”

At that, Kageyama’s touch becomes a little firmer. Then Kunimi grabs Kageyama’s other hand, and with more confidence than he thought he had, he turns it around, palm facing up, before slotting his fingers in between. Kunimi holds him with the same kind of certainty but also loosely enough to let Kageyama go if he thinks it’s too much. Though Kunimi says nothing this time, he thinks, _this is how you should do it, okay? Like you’re willing to let go but you want them to know you want to stay._

Some cold lingers in Kageyama’s skin, but Kunimi’s hand is cold too and it doesn’t change the fact that he’s aware that Kageyama has nice hands; even more so, when, after a pause, Kageyama curls his fingers in, meeting him halfway with the effort. Kunimi acts like his breath doesn’t slightly hitch at the gesture. 

It’s scary, because like this, it’s easy to pretend; it’s easy to slip in that head space instead of staring at it from afar, wondering how much distance he’ll have to close just to be able to try and touch it. 

“What’s next?” Kageyama asks quietly, when Kunimi glances back up at him. 

_She’ll touch you like this,_ Kunimi should say, and then he’ll reach up to cup Kageyama’s cheek gently. Kageyama would lean into his palm and Kunimi would lean forward, decreasing the gap up until he’d feel the way Kageyama’s nervous exhale tickles his cheeks. _She’ll look at you for a few moments_. He’ll continue, staring right into Kageyama’s. Kageyama will blink back, not unassumingly, but patiently, like he knows what’s going to happen and is ready for it. Like he has been for a while, and the only one hesitating here is the other person, even if Kunimi is the one to take all the first steps forward to make it to this very spot, this very place. _And then she’ll kiss you._

Kunimi says none of these things, but he does all of it—cups Kageyama’s breath, leans in, presses his lips against his. 

It must have been a long since time he’s last kissed someone, because the feeling is unfamiliar but it gives him the sort of rush he’d only find in _first times_ , with all its wonder and awe. And it must have been a gentler touch than Kageyama expected from Kunimi, a man, because he stills before the tension leaves him and he inches forward, kissing Kunimi back. 

They pull back seconds later, less because they still need air to breathe and more because Kunimi can feel Kageyama’s grip on his shoulder loosen and the subtle gesture is enough to just throw him off. 

Then Kunimi catches the look on Kageyama’s face, eyes wide with the kind of realization for something Kunimi feels like he _shouldn’t_ know, and Kageyama says, “Oh.”

Kunimi lets his hand drop. Immediately, their hands pull apart. These gestures alone and a single word causes the dread to creep up on Kunimi alongside that awareness that Kageyama is going to say something that Kunimi doesn’t want him to talk about, something that he hadn’t even considered doing, that he held back doing up until the last second, when suddenly all his walls collapsed and he let his guard down and _gave in_. 

It’s only been moments ago when Kunimi had told Kageyama, _I’m not going to kiss you. That’d be too weird, and I’m not Okamura._ And yet. 

“Kunimi,” says Kageyama. “What you were talking about earlier. You’re— I’m—”

“Kageyama,” Kunimi interrupts, because he knows what he’s about to say. “Don’t. Forget about it.” Kageyama looks conflicted. “Please.”

“Okay,” Kageyama eventually replies, even though Kunimi knows he _won’t_ because the point of him even coming here is to learn things and remember them for later. And now Kageyama has learned things, but they’re also the wrong things, and he’s going to remember them. Kunimi really fucked up with this. “Thanks.” Kunimi doesn’t feel the gratitude. “I think I know everything I need to know. For the dance. And with Okamura.” he hastily adds, as if that helps. It doesn’t, and the mention of Okamura is the same as a bucket of cold water being doused on Kunimi. 

He almost flinches. He somehow manages. “Yeah,” he says, finding his voice even though it feels like all the air has just been sucked out of him. He’s startled by the monotone he can achieve, almost as if he truly is indifferent. “Glad I could help.”

Quickly, Kageyama stands up and heads to the door. Mindlessly, Kunimi follows him, watches how Kageyama slips on his shoes hurriedly, like he can’t wait to leave because this wasn’t supposed to happen. And it wasn’t. His reaction makes sense. 

Still, the sight and realization hurts. But Kunimi said he didn’t want Kageyama to talk about it, so there’s no way he will. Not voluntarily anyway. 

(The sudden thought of saying sorry comes to mind. And it would be the right thing to do, maybe the right thing to say. Kageyama says that he wants to give people the best that they deserve, and maybe, in his own way, Kunimi should return the favor, because Kageyama deserves a sorry. 

But Kunimi doesn’t give what he doesn’t mean, and the truth is, he isn’t sorry. Kageyama deserves an apology, but what he deserves even more is Kunimi’s sincerity.)

So Kunimi says nothing, his silence a common theme for tonight. Kageyama is swinging the door open and he’s already halfway out. All of a sudden, he stops, like he just remembered something. 

“I never asked,” Kageyama says, turning his head to Kunimi. “But will I see you there? At the dance?”

“I never planned on going,” Kunimi answers, and it’s mostly the truth. He really hadn’t, except for that split second when he saw an entire scene unravel between them, an alternate world where they hadn’t kissed but shared something else instead.

“Why?”

Kunimi shrugs. It’s a little easier to slip back into his usual air of nonchalance now that a little more time has passed, even if he can still feel the awkward atmosphere hang in the air so long as Kageyama is still here, so long as Kunimi hasn’t done something to vent out the humiliation and sorrow stewing inside him. “I’m busy over the weekend.” he lies. 

“Oh.” Kageyama sounds oddly disappointed. “Okay. I’ll text you about how it goes then. Bye, Kunimi.”

“Can’t wait,” Kunimi says, and he doesn’t even make an effort to give him a strained smile. Kageyama lingers for half a second, like he’s debating on whether to say something else, but he’s already said goodbye, so he just goes. Kunimi doesn’t move from his spot even when the door is shut, quietly listening past the thin walls of the apartment to Kageyama’s feet thump against the floor as he makes his way down the hall to leave. 

When the sound of footsteps fades, Kunimi locks his door and presses his head against the wood, sighing. 

* * *

_“So how did it go?”_ Kindaichi asks later, the moment the call connects. 

“Fuck you,” is the first thing Kunimi says, lying on his couch. “Fuck you. Fuck you.”

“ _Right_ ,” Kindaichi replies flatly. _“I take it that it didn’t go well then.”_

The problem is that it went too well; at least just for a moment, and that moment alone made everything go wrong. The problem is that it went too well, and so Kunimi’s feelings are out in the open. The problem is that it went too well, and now Kageyama knows how Kunimi feels about him, not just because of the kiss, but because of all the other things—from the unexpected but raw things he revealed to the words with layers of meaning that he let slip by without much care, confident in Kageyama’s inability to decipher them properly and foolishly being proven wrong, and that’s why Kageyama had immediately left. It’s why he hadn’t stayed. 

_Why he hadn’t stayed_ , as if he was going to, regardless of how tonight had gone. 

_“You’ve been quiet for too long,”_ Kindaichi suddenly pipes up. _“Did you fall asleep on me? Are you dead?”_

“Shut up.” Kunimi says. “I’m thinking.”

_“Of?”_

A lot of things. This night was exhausting, bringing about too many thoughts he didn’t expect to surface, too many decisions he didn’t think he was brave—stupid—enough to make. “If I’m going to forget about all of this.”

_“Why would you?”_

“Because my memory is crap.” Two months since he’d last seen Kageyama besides today. He wonders how long it’ll take this time. Maybe it’ll be forever. “I’ll probably only remember the color of his eyes.” It’s then does he register the uncomfortable sensation of something prodding at his hip. Kunimi slips his hand into his pocket and takes out what’s apparently—ah. “And socks. With cat prints.”

From the other end of the line, Kindaichi is oddly silent. Then, “ _I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I think you seriously need to sleep. Tonight sounded like a nightmare.”_

Kunimi thinks Kindaichi should wait until the weekend happens. He thinks about telling Kindaichi this, but then his friend wouldn’t get it, and for some reason, the thought makes him laugh. It must unsettle Kindaichi enough, this uncharacteristic behavior, unable to read the room and understand the way Kunimi is in grief, because he just hangs up; he makes up for it a minute later, sending Kunimi a text reminding him to rest because he’ll be picking him up in the morning for breakfast and to make sure he doesn’t miss any of his classes.

 _Thanks for staying_. Kunimi wants to text back, but he’s run out of bravery for the day and he falls asleep before he can try to gain it, before he can dwell on the fact that they’re words he wished he could have said to someone else—rich blue eyes and cold hands and all. 

* * *

The bottle of gin finds itself opened by the time Saturday night swings around. Kunimi drinks straight from the bottle instead of being a decent person and pouring it from the glass because he loves himself. The socks with cat prints that catch his eye every time his eyes drift to the floor is because he hates himself. When the clock’s hands strike nine and he starts to hear Kageyama’s voice calling out his name, he can’t tell if his imagination is doing it out of love or hate. 

It takes him a minute or two to realize that it’s not his mind playing tricks on him. Then he pushes himself away from his chair and makes his way to the door. 

“Kuni—” Kageyama stops when the door parts open. “Kunimi.”

Kunimi stares. “Kageyama,” he starts. “What are you doing here?” It’s nine and Kageyama is dressed in a suit. “You idiot, Landlock Nights is happening right now.” 

“I know it is,” says Kageyama. “But I’m not going.”

It takes a beat for Kunimi to process the words. “What happened to Okamura?”

“I told her I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“People deserve the best I could give,” he says, an echo. “But I couldn’t give that to her.” 

“Your phrasing drives me nuts sometimes,” Kunimi murmurs, the gin making him loose-lipped but still in his right mind, still enough to talk properly and understand these words that Kageyama’s handing to him. He leans on the door frame. “So that’s why you’re here?”

Kageyama pauses. Kunimi thinks it’s an answer enough, because it’s a yes or a no, but then Kageyama says, “Do you really not want me here?”

“It’s not that.” Kunimi replies, something in him inevitably softening at the dejected look on Kageyama’s face. He does a terrible job at hiding it, Kunimi thinks, just as terrible as his own attempt to stay immune to it. “I just don’t want you to be here because I want it or because you think you can give it. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know that,” defends Kageyama. “And I’m not.” 

“Do you?”

“It’s not about giving you my best, why I’m here.” 

“Then why?”

“Can’t I just be here because I want to stay?”

Kunimi pauses. He looks at Kageyama. Bright blue eyes, patient but eager. Kunimi thinks he’s worse at denying Kageyama than he thought. He can tell, even at this moment, that they’re not going to talk about it. And it’s okay. Kunimi doesn’t think they really need to. 

“Of course you can,” he says lowly. Kageyama smiles kindly. Kunimi’s mouth starts to twitch with the sudden urge to mimic him, as if they’re the same middle school kids they once were who didn’t understand their own emotions past blowing them up and letting it rule them. Things have changed since then, but some remain the same. “But you like dances.”

“There are other things I like a lot more than that,” Kageyama says, words with their own weight in them. Then his nose suddenly wrinkles. “Why does it smell like alcohol?”

Kunimi waves a hand. “I was having my own event here. No dancing though.”

“Who says I can’t dance in there?” Kunimi gives him a look. Kageyama laughs. “But I don’t have an invitation to enter.” 

Kunim’s about to tell Kageyama to skip the charade of formals and dances and riding on this little joke, but then he continues. “But I do have this.”

Kunimi suppresses a little huff. “What is it this time?”

Kageyama reveals his hand, the one he’d apparently been hiding behind his back without Kunimi noticing. It’s a flower. A single one, but a flower nonetheless. Sky blue. Kunimi’s eyes widen, and then he laughs sharply. “You’re unbelievable.”

Kageyama gives him a crooked grin in response. “Don’t kick me out?”

Kunimi snorts. “I haven’t even let you in yet.” 

They’re not going to talk about it. And it’s okay. Kunimi doesn’t want him to, because he understands that this is what Kageyama is giving, these actions that speak louder than words, and even though it might not be the best Kageyama can give, Kunimi knows it’s more than he deserves. 

He steps aside and opens the door wider. Kageyama steps inside, here to stay. 

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ idk i just rlly wanted to do smth knkg for spiker-setter week and heard frank ocean’s song, wrote this in one sitting, and hadn’t looked back since. so if this has similar vibes to a pre-existing fic i’ve posted . . . just quietly look away for my sake bc i just wanted knkg to be tender with each other pls and thank you T^T
> 
> i’d been stumped on what to call the dance until i saw the title and tried to make something that’s opposite to ‘drifter’ but a bit more indirect and fancy-sounding, hence, ‘landlock’. 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/inarizakicks) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lightproof)


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